Help!
by iammeanttolive
Summary: Paul and John go out after a concert to enjoy themselves for a little while. When Paul can't find John, he gets worried and goes to search for him. When he finds John, something unexpected happens. SLASH.


Title: Help!

By: Melody (iammeanttolive)

Warning: Some swearing. A kiss or two is shared between the two.

Word Count: 2,527

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: John/Paul

A/N: Just a short one part story. I'm writing some other one shots, but I may turn them into stories depending on other's comments. I'll make sure to ask to see if you would like it continued when I do publish those ones as well.

A/N 2: This is un-beta'd. I was going to get a beta for this, but I felt as if it would be a waste since this is just a one-shot. I did take the time to proofread though. Any mistakes historically, grammatically, or having to do with John, Paul, and George are all my fault.

**Comments and Criticism is appreciated!** Be gentle please. This is my first fanfic. Also, I know this is not in the right section, but since there is not specific section for these types of Fan Fiction I put it here because Across The Universe is related to The Beatles.

* * *

It was the typical thing to do after a concert. You go out after playing, and you drink a little- a lot- a find a couple birds to have a fun shag with. At least, that's what they usually did. Tonight, Paul was having trouble paying attention to the petite blonde sitting next to him. _Where the hell did John run off to?_

He looked over towards the bar then back to the dance floor- no John. _Where…?_

"Paul? Paul?" The blonde tilted her head so that she could see the front of his face. "Did you happen to hear any of the words I just said?"

Recognizing the voice, Paul turned his head and noticed the sadness creeping onto her face. "I…uh…" He scratched his head. "I have a bit of a headache, s'all it is. Sorry love." He gave her a reassuring smile and ran a hand through her overdone hair.

She smiled back at him and asked him to dance. They went over to the dance floor right when the band started to play a soft ballad. The girl practically wrapped herself around Paul as he reluctantly danced with her. Though trying to be discreet, he darted his eyes through the crowd to see if John was dancing with a lady as well. He let out an annoyed groan when John was nowhere to be found. Somehow, picking up birds wasn't as fun when John wasn't there. Even though John needed Paul to be there to help break the ice, Paul needed John to keep him calm. He needed his natural charm, which John thought only Paul had. Boy, John was extremely wrong. _He's wrong about many things. I don't mind, really._

"Paul?!"

Paul shook his head and whipped it backed. As his eyes focused on the girl in front of him, he noticed her frustrated tone. "Yes, love?"

"You're not foolin' me, Paul! Are you fancyin' some other girl? Have you forgotten who you were dancing with?"

"No, of course not! Just got a little distracted." He gave her a sincere smile, though he didn't mean it. Hopefully she believed him though.

She pushed Paul away from her and crossed her arms. "I should have known all a Beatle would want is a 'shag'!" She looked absolutely disgusting, as if she just ate something horrid and needed to spit it out. "I thought you would have some sort of manners, but I suppose I was wrong." She snatched up her purse and glared directly into Paul's eyes. He could hear her breathing, and see a frown making her face wrinkle. She was obviously trying to be intimidating, but she looked rather silly instead. "I cannot believe," she said rolling her eyes. "that – that you…you…" She quite trying to find a word and let out a high pitched grown.

"Goodbye to you too, Michelle!"

"It's Millie!" She disappeared.

_Well, that went splendid. _Paul shook his head and stood up onto his feet. Now that he thought about it, his head did ache a little. _Maybe, I'll just go back to the hotel. No sense in wasting my time here._ That was the first time a girl had left him. Usually they were extremely easy to take back to his bed. Paul blamed it on John. Why was he so focused on him anyways? It's not like it mattered where John went. It was none of Paul's business. _It should be._ Should it?

When he arrived at the hotel, it had begun to rain. That sound of the rain was relaxing to him, the soft splashes were melodic in a way. It was sort of a comfort for Paul.

"Hullo Paul!" George waved him over while lighting a fag. "How goes it, mate?"

"Gettin' me head a bit wet from the damn rain."

"Hm. I think I like the rain, you know. Reminds me of me home." George slowly let out a breath of smoke.

"D'you know where John happens to be?"

"Aye. Pretty sure he went up to his room. He looked a bit out of it, if you know what I mean." George winked at Paul as he let out another drag.

Paul smirked at the thought. "Alright, mate. I'm gonna see if he's still awake then."

Paul entered the hotel eagerly, he wanted to see John. No, he _needed_ to see John. He wasn't entirely sure why he had such a desire to know if John was okay, maybe he had just gotten used to taking care of him. Paul just had a feeling John wasn't all right. He knew that John could be distant when something was wrong. John hadn't been communicating much, come to think of it. The most he had uttered the other day was a couple yes's and no's. It bothered Paul greatly. Usually John had some smart remark or obscene joke to make. Lately though, John hadn't shown any sign of interest in anything. He was lifeless and pale. Why had Paul not noticed? _I'm just worried._

As all of these possibilities of why John was acting strange raced through his mind, he found himself damn near running to John's room. John was in trouble. How did he know? It made sense to him though. John usually told him about his troubles. John usually asked Paul to listen. John _usually _told Paul everything. Paul's eyes began to become blurry and sting. They felt like they were going to fall out of his head. They were tearing. _Don't cry, you poof. You're acting like a bird. _

"John is just fine, you overreacting git." Paul thought aloud.

Once he found John's room he could hear his uneven breaths. He could feel the tightness in his chest as he breathed in and out, his lungs hastily receiving oxygen. His heart was beating rather fast as well; he could feel it in his chest, in his head, in his neck. Suddenly he felt saddened that if John was hurt that he did not trust him enough to talk to him. A cup of tea and a few ciggies later- everything was just peachy. This hurt him. _He_ was hurt. Such an unfamiliar feeling for a mate.

Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer.

"John?" Paul asked elongating the 'O' in John's name. _I'm fucking talking to a door. _His lips were nearly touching the green chipped paint that was a part of the door. He figured the closer his mouth was the better John could hear him. "It's Paul, John…Macca…" He let his head fall. John didn't want to talk to him. Either that or John was doing better things that had nothing to do with Paul.

Click. Paul's head jolted up as the door unlocked. A smile almost appeared on his face, until he remembered the reason he had come. His brow furrowed as he crept into the dimly lit room. His jaw immediately dropped. The entire place looked like hell. It was as if a hoard of girls had come in here trying to get a piece of John- and failed. The thought made him shudder. Sometimes the female gender was very terrifying.

As his eyes danced across the wasteland in front of him, they managed to land on John. He was huddled in the center of the room, surrounded by papers, liquor, a pen, a guitar, and his thick-rimmed glasses. Paul felt relief flush over him. _John must be going through a drunken fit. He'll get over it. And to think I was worried. _

"Rough night, eh?" Paul sniggered.

Silence. The man on the floor didn't budge.

Paul walked over towards him and knelt on the ground. "Just because you're-"

"Macca…" John eye's were purple and bloodshot, his hair plastered to his face due to his sweat. His lips were quivering and his breathing shallow. The nicely ironed suit was unbuttoned and disheveled. John Winston Lennon looked like shit. Perfect shit. _Perfect?_

"What's the matter John?" Paul frowned. Perhaps John was more than just drunk. Paul's eyes swept over the room once more. "Did you do this John?"

John lifted his calloused hand to his face and let out a held-in breath. "H-help…me…" His voice began to shake, and his shoulders began to sag. John was sobbing.

McCartney's large brown eyes widened and then blinked. One, two, three times. John was crying? In front of him? Voluntary? Paul placed his fingertips on John's chin and lifted his head so he could look into his eyes.

"I'm here. What do you need?" He wiped a few tears from the older man's cheeks. "Macca's here, love."

John searched Paul's face, and the look he flashed Paul was enough to make anyone feel the despair that John felt. When Paul gazed into his eyes, they looked empty. His face looked dead. "Help. I need you…to please help me. I-" John cleared his throat to rid of his cracking voice. Paul knew that John was ashamed, ashamed that the great John Lennon was crying. Paul fancied this John, though. He was raw, and he was real.

"Tell me-" The paper. Paul snatched the paper from John's hands. It was a song, a song asking for rescue. It wasn't a silly love song; it was the actual Beatles' feelings written down.

John's eyes wondered to the piece of paper, and he scanned the words. "Paulie. I. Hate. Myself."

He didn't need any other reason. Paul knew what John needed. It wasn't sex, it wasn't alcohol, it was simply love. When Paul embraced his friend, he still felt that something was missing. _What's a bloody hug gonna do? It won't get rid of the pain or of John's insecurities._ John interrupted his thoughts as he placed his head in the crook of Paul's neck. The sensation of his lips and hot breath made Paul shiver. He could feel the strands of John's hair play with his neck. He could feel John's chest connect with his, over and over again. It felt absolutely wonder-_Fuck. You are not a queer McCartney._ But Paul loved the feel of John's hair, loved his mouth- _Shut up!_

Paul pushed John off of him in frustration. What was he doing? This is not what someone should do to their best mate.

Lips. John had collided his reddening lips to Paul's. Paul's eye widened in shock and he immediately pulled away in disgust.

"What was that, huh?!" Paul shouted furiously. He wiped his mouth trying to get rid of the taste of…John. "D'you think I actually want that? Bloody hell, Lennon! You should hate yourself, you fuckin' queer!" Paul jumped to his feet and glared at the auburn haired man.

John slowly rose to his feet and stepped awkwardly towards Paul. Once he was inches away from him, he emitted a snarl. Then, it what seemed less than a second, John smashed his fist into Paul's face. His anger was soon engulfed by depression when he saw the trickle of blood coming from Paul's bottom lip. Tears filled John's eyes once again. John could never remain angry at Paul, he never could.

"Leave."

"I will bloody leave! Thank you for the invitation!" Just as Paul was about to slam the door to this- to John's room- he heard a guitar start to play and then a voice join in. The thousands of brown hairs came to life on the back of his neck. The words he had told John made him feel guilty now. His shoulders felt weighed down, he felt deeply burdened. _You should, you twat._

"_When I was younger, so much younger than today…"_

The guitar stopped abruptly and he heard the steel strings hit something- hard. "I recall telling you to sod off and leave, McCartney."

He began to feel heavier. "I…" _What do I say? _He sighed and turned to face his friend, who he lov…admired. _Loved? Love._

"Paul." The older man was standing in front of him with his hand on the door frame.

"Shut up." Paul smiled and grabbed John by the collar. He could feel a sharp pain where John had hit himt, but he ignored it as he focused on John's lips. Meanwhile, John's eyes were trying to find something to focus on- anything besides Paul.

This time it was Paul who initiated the kiss. He didn't kiss him hungrily, not with lust, not too slow, not too fast, but with passion. It was the kind of kiss you would give your lover, not a bloke. It was a kiss you gave to someone you loved deeply, not someone like this man. This was so natural, more natural than the bird Paul was kissing earlier tonight. _What was her name again?_ When Paul opened his heavy-lidded eyes, he saw a certain shine in John's eyes. The eyes that were staring back at him were filled with relief and freedom. This is what John needed, and it made Paul feel as if John knew he was sorry. Perhaps it was more than that though.

"You're an arsehole, Macca. A damn good one though." John gave Paul a toothy smile, which went away as fast as it came to be.

"A man once spoke: 'the longer you know someone, the more like them you become.'"

"You mean my abundance of wit and charm? I suppose so." John chuckled and walked back to his guitar, sat on the floor, and began to play again. "Eh, you want to join me, son?"

The Beatle nodded and plopped himself next to John. "You weren't playing the F the correct way. It sounded like rubbish." Paul then proceeded to show him the fingering.

John clasps his hands together and batted his eyelashes. "My hero!" He said in a high pitched squeal.

Paul laughed and handed John his glasses that reeked of alcohol. "How about we start from the beginning? Shall we?"

The glasses found their way to John's head as he shook it in agreement.

As they finished up the song, Paul decided to help John with the tidying up of his room. Although it didn't take that much effort, Paul knew Brian was going to go daft when he heard about this. _He doesn't have to know. _Paul tried to stay optimistic over the whole situation. He had to. For John.

When Paul said goodbye to John and started to walk over to his room, he heard John's door open.

"Wait- Paul!" John's head peeked out of the corner.

"Yeah, mate?" _I'm tired, John._

John looked around and then stepped out into the hallway. "I…" He heard John swallow. "I..." His hands began to fidget, and then he stopped and started to bite his thumbnail. A shaky breath escaped his mouth. "I love you, Paulie." His confession came out as almost a whisper. An insecure smiled played on his lips. "I love you." He repeated with more volume and confidence, though he didn't look too confident.

Paul McCartney replied back with a boyish grin and walked back to John.

"Your face seems a bit bruised, lad."

"One of those nights, y'know?" Paul said rubbing the corner of his mouth.

"I know."

Paul ended up staying the night.


End file.
